“What should I tempt you to?” asked Blueskin, in surprise.
“To—to—no matter what,” returned the widow distractedly. “Go—go!”
“I see what you mean,” rejoined Blueskin, tossing a large case-knife, which he took from his pocket, in the air, and catching it dexterously by the haft as it fell; “you owe Jonathan a grudge;—so do I. He hanged your first husband. Just speak the word,” he added, drawing the knife significantly across his throat, “and I'll put it out of his power to do the same by your second. But d—n him! let's talk o' something more agreeable. Look at this ring;—it's a diamond, and worth a mint o' money. It shall be your wedding ring. Look at it, I say. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. A-L-I-V-A—Aliva—T-R-E-N—Trencher that's it. Aliva Trencher.”
“Aliva Trenchard!” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, hastily; “is that the name?”
“Ay, ay, now I look again it is Trenchard. How came you to know it? Have you heard the name before?”
“I think I have—long, long ago, when I was a child,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; “but my memory is gone—quite gone. Where can I have heard it!”
“Devil knows,” rejoined Blueskin. “Let it pass. The ring's yours, and you're mine. Here, put it on your finger.”
Mrs. Sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force to repel his advances.
“Set down the kid,” roared Blueskin, savagely.
“Mercy!” screamed Mrs. Sheppard, struggling to escape, and holding the infant at arm's length; “have mercy on this helpless innocent!”